What You Are
by Archristol
Summary: Crimson rouge seeped out from an injured obsidian lip. When the lip crooked for a smirk, it swiftly drew a line down a lightly tanned chin, and then it fell and landed on a fair skinned cheek. / Femslash. Morrigan&FCousland. Preview/Teaser. / The actual story is up and it's called "Skinny Love!"


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**What You Are  
><strong>

by Archristol

Disclaimer: I don't own Morrigan or the other Dragon Age characters. Ophelia Cousland's all mine, however. Song lyrics aren't mine.

* * *

><p><em>Somewhere searching to figure it out,<br>You take me back again,  
>Somewhere drifting above and beyond,<br>The sky and everyone._

[-]

Crimson rouge seeped out from an injured obsidian lip. When the lip crooked for a smirk, it swiftly drew a line down a lightly tanned chin, and then it fell and landed on a fair skinned cheek. A brief scoff of delight breathed out from said lips as the bearer of the stained cheek froze in mild confusion.

_Confusion... From self-doubt. No doubt._

"I will not repeat it, Ophelia," Morrigan finally managed a firm tone from her trapped position under the slightly taller and stronger female Grey Warden, "Get. Off." Distinct locks of platinum blonde hair nearly graced her face irritably.

In response, Ophelia only sealed her eyes and slipped a lengthy tongue out to clean the trail of blood on her chin and the wound on her lower lip; her head partly tilted back. All the while, she exaggerated a quiet but breathy moan. Her bright silver eyes were glazed with sadistic seduction once they opened.

The witch felt a sudden jolt of helpless pleasure from the graphic display. Her arms that were held above her head grew weak beyond her wish and lost their ability to resist. The rogue quickly sensed this and loosened her grip on the mage's wrists.

Almost subconsciously – the dark head raised a hand and reached for the muscle that bled. She placed an index on the lip and stared at it, then stared at her watcher from above; a brief gasp and noticeable bat of her eye lashes upon the transition.

_Curious._

Ophelia's shiny orbs narrowed on fire and the smirk she wore irrepressibly tightened. She was certain of the outcome now, and eagerly claimed her momentary victory on flushed rosy lips.

Morrigan practically swooned inwardly (much to her reluctant surprise) in acceptance of the rogue's second attempt. Her mouth permitted entrance for a slippery clash of tongues and she hummed a tune of agreement audible only to Ophelia. What came next was just the right amount of harsh. _And the exquisite taste. _The taste was the more encouragement to aggressively pull a handful of blonde head closer to her own.

_Metallic and sweet. Metallically sweet._

[-]

__What you are,  
><em><em>What you are,<em>_  
><em><em>What you are,<em>_  
><em>Is the voice behind that dream.<em>  
><em>_

[-]

"I don't understand why Ophelia couldn't simply let her leave. She had remarkably put her in her place... Yet she herself chased after her. Why? When we were nearly rid of her," Leliana complained to the other standing companions surrounding the inactive campfire, "I can't even imagine what they might've done together in that tent."

Surprisingly, Sten was first to reply in his usual monotone, "The Warden _is_ full of mystery and things that do not make any... Sense."

Wynne contemplated verbally, "Perhaps. But we all have knowledge of her intelligence. She is a reasonable woman. Careful and calculative. And as much as I do not approve of Morrigan, her abilities are of use," in here, she chose her words carefully, "However, she's rude and disrespectful. Her spiteful attitude creates unwanted and unnecessary… Strain amongst all of us. Our group would be much better off without her. It is a dilemma Ophelia fails to recognize."

The dog, Nutella, whined sadly to fill the nonexistent sympathy in the air.

"Or may~be she just likes Morrigan?" Alistair composed a shockingly brilliant supposition. Leliana and Wynne immediately glowered in his direction for complete awareness of that fact which was thus far never mentioned. "Forget I said anything."

Paced footsteps from Antivan leather boots pestered the growing anxiety most of the party possessed.

"Our lovely lady is coming," Zevran twirled a small knife with his fingers and cautiously approached the even sharper daggers aimed at his persistently smiling face, "And quite naked at that, I might add."

Not a minute later, Ophelia languidly appeared in view, her medium armor equipment in hand and half-dragged across the distance. A few feet from them, she had impossibly tripped on her own foot and slumped on the ground in her semi-naked glory. The team steadily enclosed around their leader's prone form, their arms (save for Zevran and Sten's) crossed in obvious disappointment. They examined her shameful show: face to dirt, undergarments ripped, skin bruised, scratched, bitten, and gashed, and hair a tangled disarray.

Ophelia groaned deeply to break the scrutinizing silence, "I feel… As though I've survived another blight," she raggedly puffed out.

She bent her head sideways, peered over three grouchy faces, and particularly focused on one, "I don't suppose you'll help me heal my wounds Wynne?" Her twitching eyes twitched even more upon exposure to the midday sun.

"I'm sorry dear. I'm afraid not today," Wynne exhaled heavily, then veered away.

"You look absolutely…" Leliana made no effort to hide her displeasure, "Terrible! I hope it was worth it," she granted her a final piercing glare, then followed Wynne.

Alistair shook his head, "I was ridiculously pumped after you gave her what she deserved last night. But then – then you had to go in that tent of hers and ruin all that hard work," then he carried on with the ladies.

"We should get going," was all Sten uttered as he departed with the rest.

Ophelia's head dropped in defeated exhaustion. The mabari barked and drew near his master. He whined for a moment before licking her somewhat lacerated back.

"That… Stings…" she murmured in pain but laid still.

Zevran whistled noisily, still blissful, "So am I the only one who considers this circumstance a fortunate one?" The question was rhetorical. "I see you drained of energy, my dear. Was she as you expected?"

Ophelia leisurely propped on an elbow and grinned mischievously, "Mmm… Zevran, Zevran… I suppose it accurate to say…" she beamed a smile enough to rival the sun's radiant shine, "I have ninety-nine problems but a witch isn't one."

He chuckled loudly upon her declaration, "Your powers of persuasion are _truly_ impressive," then he lent a hand to assist her up, "Though I wonder, is she as bruised and battered as you are? Or did you play… The obedient masochist?"

She snickered in her stumble to get up, "Come now, Zevran. You don't really believe me to be as easy as yourself, or… Do you?"

"Haha, of course not my sweet. I cannot even begin to compare myself to such a fascinating woman like you," he gazed up towards the eyes of his taller fellow cajoler who offered a tempting glint.

"Ah, your determination is admirable," Ophelia advanced on Zevran and mesmerized despite her current condition (although the elf surely didn't mind) by resting her forearms on his shoulders and delivering a lax whisper, "But _it _will never happen. You know I only do vaginas." As soon as the smirk formed on her lips, she swerved away and headed to get dressed.

His jaw instantaneously dropped and he kicked the earth where it fell, "Why _you_ – _you_ are a devil woman! And I am hopelessly in love with you!"

The opportunistic female rogue could be heard laughing maniacally.

[-]

_Sleeping quiet I float in the air,  
>Searching for you there,<br>Miles and miles away from your touch,  
>Aching everywhere.<em>

[-]

Birds flew high under the dimming sunlight. The highway seemed benign since they left the camp to travel for Orzammar. The group marched quietly with Alistair, Leliana, Wynne, and Sten in the lead, Morrigan strayed far in the middle to the side, and Ophelia, Nutella, and Zevran not distant from her tail.

Zevran had been eyeing Morrigan for the whole duration. He strived to do the incredibly difficult task of searching for any sort of mark marred on her skin.

"You implied that you did not play the obedient masochist, and yet why is it that I cannot find a single mark on her body?" Zevran could hold his nosiness no longer.

"Hmm… What?" Ophelia's mind was wandering, "Uh–no. There should be plenty. With her skimpy clothing, you should be feasting your eyes on many. I made sure–oh." She paused for a revelation.

He blinked, "Yes?"

"Tsk tsk. That sly little minx…" she quirked a brow and pursed her discolored lips, "She healed all the wounds in her upper body."

He scoffed, "Every single one?"

"Makes a leader think twice before forcing her comrades into spirit healing lessons, huh?" she glanced at him with a slight look of self-disgust.

"Alas, it's your fault–" he was soon interjected.

"On second thought, her hood is up," her eyes lit.

"Oh? And how should we go about revealing–" and, again, interjected.

"Darkspawn!" Ophelia alerted in a voice loud enough for the group to hear. She crept to an angle hidden from the enemies' view then pointed at an area lower than theirs and her followers observed close by.

"Fool," Morrigan casually joined from behind but remained detached, "You realize 'tis bandits you uncovered?"

Ophelia turned to regard her disbelievingly, "Yes. But they astonishingly appear just as horrid. No?" She winked and the witch's irises rotated skywards.

"And… What should we do?" Alistair questioned.

"We should sneak past the path and leave," Leliana rendered a few nods in the assembly with her suggestion.

"_Nooo~_ We'll sneak _into_ the path and loot these looters," Ophelia declared in an authoritative tone which meant the plan was set.

"I figured you'd probably say that," a long sword unsheathed from Alistair's side, "Let's go."

"By _sneak_, you mean _eventually get caught_? Therefore enabling you to purge the road so that the succeeding passersby may be entirely safe from harm?" Morrigan naturally disapproved in that disapproving tone of hers.

"Obviously," the corners of Ophelia's lips curved upwards, "You may sit and merely watch if you'd like," and she gestured towards a protruding rock formation.

Morrigan smiled back, "How _very_ thoughtful of you," then she scoffed and took the seat that was directed for her, "Fine. Continue if it thrills you."

They descended down the hillside until Ophelia raised a steady hand for a halt. Her manner of speech and tone instantly changed upon every upcoming battle; she was serious now. "You guys know the drill," her game face was on and her furtive stance apparent. "Leliana?" she inquired.

Leliana pulled her longbow's string and squinted her eyes for a chosen target. As per usual, Ophelia ascertained her friend's preparedness before she headed onwards to produce her stealthy first hit.

Like a snake on smooth floor, the steps she made effortlessly bent no sound. An ending heartbeat later, a lone victim's neck had already been slit and the archer's arrow had simultaneously struck another kill farther from the initial.

The bandits lingered about unaware of their slain acquaintances that the assassin had blended in and claimed a kill. Their meticulous process went on till a fifth opponent had collapsed on the ground, in which another startled bandit far off had seen a dead corpse and yelled ambush. The templar took this cue and charged in with a mighty war cry, attracting the bulk of the bandits. The Qunari and war dog keenly joined the festivities while the senior enchanter studied the fray for support.

The witch serenely spectated in her spot under the trees, arms and legs crossed, hidden from the fight. She specifically analyzed the woman whom she had shared a bedroll with. She truly abhorred most, if not all, of what the woman stood for. The cluelessness in the way she aided others was an act; Morrigan knew. She knew as much that Ophelia typically had the best intentions for the weak. She coerced and compromised her with irrelevant excuses, but all situations boiled down to a single end result - some pathetic failures benefiting from their hard labor. Everything Morrigan believed in, Ophelia painstakingly endeavored to do the opposite.

Furthermore, Ophelia was a woman. And she had slept with her and allowed herself to be indulged in the course. It was an affinity she couldn't believe she had the capacity for. In the past, she had only been attracted to men. Not ever with women. Women tended to lack the ambitious qualities of the other sex. Not to mention, the muscular strength that they were born with by default. By nature, they had more power. Despite this, she could not stop herself from being severely intrigued by her; a feeling she severely despised.

Golden yellow eyes were stuck on the gallant rogue like a lizard trapped in a web. Ophelia's short and sleek satin blonde ponytail flowed in time with her twin daggers' consecutive strikes, accenting her twists and turns with more motion. The custom fashionable armor she sported was hardly ever stained by the blood whose color it closely resembled. She had modestly admitted she was too lazy to clean it, so she prevented any means of soiling it. But that wasn't the simple case – she was purely skilled that blood never had to come into contact with her armor or skin. She could fight naked, had it been requested.

The feminine Grey Warden fought with the intensity and prowess of a man, yet with the grace and finesse of a woman. Every movement she performed could be easily compared to a dance. Every movement was visually appealing: like they were previously choreographed to perfection. Every movement was properly connected to the next: like there were no alternatives. Every movement served a purpose – and each purpose was sinuously executed.

Her precise actions mirrored her face – calm but confident and infinitely thinking. _And her eyes._ Her diamond globes burned cold with controlled passion when she fought. They were at odds to the careless gaze she donned moments ago. But there was always a mysterious mask – they hid something secret.

Morrigan was about to look elsewhere when Ophelia had captured her watchful stare. She couldn't fathom why, but she had begun to sprint towards her. She stood, as if there were nothing wiser. Then the thought occurred to her. She whirled around and found what Ophelia sought.

"DUCK!" Ophelia demanded with a scream.

In the instant Morrigan obeyed, a spiraling dagger impaled a bandit's skull inches behind her. Thuds came from both the bandit's fall and her stagger backwards unto the grass, speechless.

Ophelia climbed up the hill and retrieved her sunken blade, then gazed at the mage with evident worry on her unprotected face, "Are you unscathed?" She offered a gloved hand to pull her up.

"Yes," Morrigan gripped it firmly and got on her feet.

"Hate to treat you like a damsel in distress," Ophelia started with a bit of sympathy. Beads of sweat traced down her defined visage as she panted faintly. "But is it too much to ask of you to sit and wait – WITHOUT GETTING YOURSELF _KILLED_?" she ended with a bellow.

"'Twas not to seek for your attention! Laugh if you must, but I simply got distracted!" Morrigan retorted, hands placed solidly on her hips. She challenged the woman three inches taller than her.

"_Distracted?_ Distracted by what? Did an archdemon fly by? Did a meteor fall from the sky?" Ophelia unexpectedly rhymed and decided to continue for all it was worth, "Or is it my beautiful face? For which you couldn't remove your gaze?"

"Ha! How astoundingly poetic of you!" the witch mocked, "But no. And certainly _not _the latter," and she lied.

"Is there something wrong here?" Wynne butted in, oblivious to the thickening tension.

"No!" they echoed each other as they faced her.

Wynne visibly flinched from their harmonious objection. "Forgive me for asking…" she put a hand on her chest to ease her weariness. The rest of the group gathered not too long after the elderly woman and they gawked at the quarreling couple expectantly.

Alistair arrived last, "We've cleared the area. There are no bandits left alive, I think…" He waited for Ophelia's brows to furrow unevenly before he proclaimed, "Yea, there are no bandits left alive."

"Good. Then it's looting time," she delayed to scan the zone, "Excluding Wynne and Morrigan: find anything useful, valuable, etc. And return here."

Sten stretched a hand out to present a wrapped item, "May I keep this?"

She anticipated the question, "Yes, Sten. Take it if it's cake. But be sure to part a slice for me," and she grinned pleasantly.

"Thank you," he stoically replied.

One or two restrained giggles afterwards, the delegated team proceeded to their task, except Leliana. She spotted something and asked about it completely out of impulse, "Is she okay?" she was referring to Morrigan, "What's that on her–um, no. Never mind…" She promptly disappeared with the others, frightened of the blush tempting to creep on her cheeks.

"How awkward. Was she speaking of me?" the dark head contemplated as the red head fled. Wynne and Ophelia both lifted their shoulders for a dunno.

Zevran overheard and reverted in a cinch, "I have a clue, if I am permitted to be so bold."

"Boldness is devoid of diffidence, elf," Morrigan corrected, her chin at a haughty angle.

"Ah, then I shall _spit it out,"_ he cleared his throat, "You've forgotten to raise the hood over your head, my dear," then he smirked coolly with his announcement. Ophelia couldn't suppress her laugh.

Morrigan hastily drew her hood up at the statement and glared at him, "Satisfied? Now, begone."

"Yes, very. And as you wish," he made a minor bow for his cheerful friend before he strode away.

Morrigan provided Ophelia with the same penetrating glower, but the rogue didn't falter a tad if it disintegrated her.

"How bad is it? I beg of you, let me have a peek of my accomplishment?" Ophelia pleaded as she went by her side and wrapped an arm on the small of her back.

She was sharply rejected as Morrigan sneered, "You would sooner beg for a quick death when I am done with you."

Ophelia involuntarily retreated to her original spot, "Idle threats, Morrigan? You could do better."

Wynne sighed to remind them she was present, "You two are like quarreling children. Not that this old woman's complaining: but did you need me?"

They rolled their eyes in sync at her first comment. Only Ophelia addressed her second.

"Yes. I did," she passed Morrigan to get closer to the older healer, "Remember that question I asked you this morning? Well now it's become a favor. The wounds aren't bad, but they grow uncomfortable when fighting with armor. I would appreciate if you could at least heal some of them."

"Hmm… Alright ," Wynne kindly considered the young lady's plead, "But you know that the exact cause for your wounds was totally preventable."

"Yes, I know," Ophelia chuckled adorably.

"Is my presence to be maintained ignored?" Morrigan huffed a fleeting sound of disdain and they gave her their immediate attention. "Leave the old woman to scavenge with the others," she converged in between them (with Wynne gladly stepping out of the way) and brought Ophelia's right hand in hers, "I will do this for you."

Ophelia was a little taken aback by Morrigan's sudden hospitality and... Touch. At any rate, she acknowledged her proposition by politely shooing Wynne, "Another time then, Wynne. Thank you."

"It's not a problem. I'll join the others," the elderly woman took her leave bereft of another word.

"This is your way of thanking me, I take it?" Ophelia began once Wynne was out of sight.

"I'm not without gratitude where 'tis due," Morrigan bestowed a warm smile that somewhat melted her heart. _The woman was unpredictable at times._

Morrigan released her hand and returned to sit on the boulder where she was almost possibly slain. Ophelia copied her and settled on a seat adjacent from hers. She took the initiative and removed her gauntlets and breastplate, then stretched her upper body for a few seconds. Her head drooped when she slouched, her elbows on her knees.

Smooth fingers grazed her relaxed back and she silently jumped.

"Relax..." Morrigan instructed and laid her palms against her bare skinny shoulders. Dim white light let loose from her hands and, as they descended down her spine, they slowly repaired the damage they had done the night before. _The essence of treatment was amusing._

"Tell me what distracted you, exactly," the patient insisted, eyes shut and fully entranced by the soothing warmth the witchdoctor distributed on her torso.

"Are we really on this topic – _again_?" Morrigan whined, tempted to claw at her back once more and maybe do it in bear form.

"Yes. You _were _thinking of me, if not gazing upon my face," Ophelia spoke what she perceived in a solemn manner, "Heterosexual women normally question their sexuality, and other emotions, after their first homosexual encounter – given that it was good or there was a connection."

Morrigan giggled skeptically, "Oh? And is that what you think? Or experienced?"

"Think and know from past paramours. I was born a lesbian," she was uttered a straightforward response.

"And how is one born a lesbian?" she blurted another question.

"The same way one is born with preferences for food, I reckon," Ophelia unsealed one eye to peer, "Will you answer my question or not?"

_No use to avoid or lie to the cunning woman._

Morrigan heaved a sigh to muster her courage, "I do... Admire you, in many ways I cannot say," she confessed in a sincere voice, "You are not a man, nor do you pretend to be one. And yet, you have similar attributes that I find… Attractive." _And the fact that she was a woman made it the more so._

Ophelia saw her eyes had softened somewhere during the procedure and couldn't help but meet her eyes directly. Morrigan detached her hands, stunned, "'Tis not finished. Turn about."

"So, am I to understand that I am an exception from other women?" Ophelia probed, her expression inviting.

"Do not be hasty! 'Twas mere infatuation," Morrigan grasped the mischief's slightly toned biceps when she leaned in.

Ophelia's face was a breath away from the sorceress's. "I'm well aware. No strings attached," she gaped at her intently for a reaction.

Morrigan deliberated while she eyeballed her slender arms, where her hands rested. _Femininely slim, but vigorous – such was every feature of her. Oh, why not?_

Her fingers trailed to her collarbone, then her neck, then her jaw, and then on her halcyon cheeks, where they stayed. She relinquished a pacifying wave of energy, and the blemishes on her regal visage vanished.

"Morrigan?" Ophelia called – and was answered by sapid lips securing her own.

[-]

__What you are,  
><em><em>What you are,<em>_  
><em><em>What you are,<em>_  
><em>Is the voice behind that dream.<em>  
><em>_

[-]

Once dusk had finally fallen and gone, the party progressed forward as much as they could until it was minutes from midnight. Ophelia wrapped up the day, as usual, by granting the group the respite they desired. However, she guaranteed an early departure for the upcoming day.

Each member (excluding Morrigan) had built their individual tents and chatted by their large bonfire. The leader had nearly completed her routine check of her friends around the camp and, just like every night, she concluded with Morrigan's isolated shelter (which she forcibly decided to neighbor since the beginning of their journey.) She was getting ready to set up her tent when Morrigan disrupted her... In a playfully salacious notion.

"'Tis cold in my tent, all alone," the solitary witch mused aloud.

Ophelia abandoned her work and attended to her like the good little helper she was. She approached her with a sanguine grin, "Well, you've picked the best candidate. I can fix that for you. It just so happens that I'm a proficient handyman."

Morrigan teased with a licentious giggle as she sauntered closer, "And it just so happens that I find you… Quite warm."

"Do you now?" Ophelia was roughly hauled by means of the stylish belt she harnessed. Their foreheads met and she equally matched Morrigan's widened smirk. She breathed out low and tasteful, "Let's see this cold tent of yours, then."

"So you shall come to my tent? But whatever shall we do in that tiny little space together while we wait for it to warm?" Morrigan fiddled with the accessory; their eyes flatteringly locked.

"I'll leave the details for later," Ophelia hinted for foreplay.

A high-pitched breath of amusement escaped Morrigan's lips before she licked her sultry lips, "Good. Then let us waste no more time with foolish talk," the Witch of the Wilds dragged her by the same fastening and she happily tailed her like a dog on a leash into her tent.

[-]

__What you are,  
><em><em>What you are,<em>_  
><em><em>What you are,<em>_  
><em>Is the voice behind that dream.<em>__

* * *

><p><strong>Song<strong>

"What You Are" by Drill

* * *

><p>AN: My first fanfiction with an original character. :D She was inspired by a lot of sexy things. Just check my profile to get an idea of how I pieced her together. For people that want to get a semi-real look of her, I drew her on my deviantART. Links are, again, in my profile. And I must say, I'm not a bad artist. So... It's worth checking out. xD

Might edit this a bit more (the title and summary too.) I do all this edit crap by myself without anyone else reading it. I know later on I'm gonna read and be like... That made no sense...

By the way, did I mention how I'm so late with this game? I really should've tried it since the day I've heard of it (I've played BioWare games before.) I didn't play it until I found Morrigan. LOL. Then I got really inspired to play it. She's hilarious.

Lastly, please review! If I get enough, this might become a solid story. Actually, I have an outline in my head already. This would be half of a full chapter (the full chapter will have the part before the rough sex. Which is quite hilarious. Hehe.) if it was part of a story. I just thought this might be a good preview/teaser. :)

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